


Tiger Eyes

by SinnamonSpider



Series: Otherwheres: Supernatural AU Bingo Challenge [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Character Death, First Time, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Semi-Public Sex, Terminal Illnesses, Zookeeper Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:21:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: The kid had started coming around a few weeks ago. He’d sit on the hard stone bench outside the tiger exhibit for hours, no matter the weather.





	Tiger Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> For the SPN AU Bingo Challenge. Square filled is "zookeeper!Dean".
> 
> For the purpose of this challenge, in this fic and all others, Dean's last name is Smith and Sam's is Wesson, but they are not necessarily the Smith/Wesson from "It's a Terrible Life". I just want to keep their surnames simple and consistent.
> 
> I am not a tiger expert, nor do I work at a zoo. As always, vast liberties have been taken. I know, you're shocked.
> 
> My soundtrack for this piece was "Skinny Love" by Birdy, on repeat ad infinitum.
> 
> Feedback is glory.

The tiger slipped silently through the spray of greenery, barely a bent twig or creased leaf to betray her passage. Out of the underbrush now, she stretched luxuriously, kneading her claws into the loamy soil. A sound caught her attention, her great ear swiveling like a satellite dish toward the source of the sound.

“Lily,” a voice called through the foliage. “Where are you, baby?”

Following the sound of the voice like a dog follows his master, the tiger launched herself over a low log and the man looked up as she landed, just a few feet away.

“There you are, gorgeous,” Dean greeted the big cat, keeping his distance until he was sure she had his scent. When she tilted her head at him, clearly waiting for the treat she knew was secreted on him somewhere, he laughed and stepped closer. “Hiya, sweetheart,” he said as he approached her, reaching into the pack strapped to his waist to withdraw her prize: a large, bloody slab of meat in a gallon zip-top bag. He removed the meat and tossed it to her, waiting until she was busy with the food to stoop down beside the pool of water and rinse the bag and his bloody hands quickly.

He folded the bag back into the pack and pulled it shut by the time the tiger had finished with her snack. She sauntered towards him, giant paws silent on the dirt, and when she reached him, she nosed expectantly at his hands, bucking her huge head into his palm.

Dean laughed. “Greedy. Nothing else for you here.” He rubbed her left ear until she shook her head violently, tired of the attention, and then stepped away. Bored, the tiger turned from him, making her way toward the back of the habitat, where the sleeping cave was.

Dean hesitated, unsure if he should follow her. She’d had cubs just over a month ago and was still very protective of them, especially if he moved toward their nest. Deciding against it, he called after the disappearing cat. “You gotta bring them out to me someday, you know.”

There was no answer immediately, but after a few minutes, Lily’s mate - and the cubs’ father - appeared on the scene. Less social than the female, the huge tiger sat about fifteen feet away - an easy distance to leap if he so chose - and watched Dean.

“Hey, Hunter,” Dean said softly, reaching again for his pack and removing a second chunk of meat. He laid it on the ground and retreated another ten or fifteen feet. He’d been working on letting the male to allow him closer, but it had been slow going.

Great green eyes observed Dean as he stood stock still, waiting to see what the tiger would do. After a minute or two, the huge Bengal moved forward to snap up the meat. As with Lily, Dean took advantage of the animal’s distraction to quickly rinse bag and hands, removing the fresh blood scent that would make him smell too much like dinner.

Finished with the food, Hunter sat and watched Dean, with an air of trying to decide if Dean was worth turning into dessert. Eventually he climbed to his feet and ambled off. As he passed Dean, closer than he ever had, he paused to scent the air, before disappearing into the greenery.

Letting out an explosive breath, Dean made quick work of the rest of his tasks in the exhibit. When he was done, he spared a glance out through the glass to the crowd. It had thinned a little, as expected when the animals weren’t in view, but it was a hot day; school had been out for a week, and the zoo was packed with crowds.

Dean paused to wave to a little boy frantically flapping his hand, giving the kid a smile. Raising his head, another zoo patron caught his eye. The skinny guy was back. Dean frowned.

The kid - he looked somehow both young and old simultaneously, but in Dean’s mind he’d become “the kid” - had started coming around a few weeks ago. He’d sit on the hard stone bench outside the tiger exhibit for hours, no matter the weather. Two days ago, when the rain had been pounding down, Anna - Dean’s fellow tiger keeper - had brought the kid one of the electric blue zoo ponchos, the ones they sold for twenty bucks in the sunshine and thirty-five in the rain.

No poncho necessary today, however. As Dean exited the exhibit, he glanced back to the kid. He’d looked awful on that rainy day - face too thin, almost gaunt, under long, dripping brown hair plastered to his skull. He looked a bit better today: maybe electric blue wasn’t his colour. Still, Dean could see the shadows under his eyes.

As Dean passed by the bench, the kid tracked him, watching in a way that made Dean’s skin prickle. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just strange.

“He’s here again.” Anna appeared at Dean’s elbow in that impossible way she had: like she’d materialized out of thin air. Too accustomed to her by now to jump the way he had in the beginning, Dean just nodded. “Think he’s got a thing for you,” he teased her.

Anna ignored him. “Lily bring out those cubs yet?”

Dean snorted. “Nope. Made some progress with Hunter, though.” He glanced back to where the male tiger had vanished into the underbrush. “He got close enough to kill me, but didn’t. Scented me, too.”

“Huh,” Anna said, impressed. “Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. He frowned. “Wish I could get a look at those cubs though.”

Anna patted his shoulder. “She’ll bring ‘em out to you soon. She’s got a crush on you, that one.” She looked past him to where the kid sat on the bench. His eyes were still on them. “She’s got some competition, it would seem.”

Dean twisted around, about to look, but then stopped. “You’re nuts,” he said darkly.

Shrugging, Anna set off. “It’s not me he watches through the glass all day, Dean,” she shot back over her shoulder.

“Nuts, ya hear me?” he yelled to her retreating back. Spinning on his heel, he walked back past the bench toward the employee break room. As he passed by, the kid rose to his feet, and Dean nearly tripped, distracted by the kid’s height. He was _tall_ \- taller than Dean, who was just over six feet. Dean had never seen him coming or going, he registered with a shock: had only ever seen him on the bench. As close as they were, it was not only his height that was surprising, but how thin he was. His clothes seemed to hang on his frame, like he was a coat rack.

Dean realized belatedly that he was staring, and he cut his eyes away, making a beeline for the safety of the Employees Only door.

* * *

The next day was cool and overcast, threatening rain, but it hadn't deterred the crowds. As Dean made his way to the door of the tiger exhibit, he noticed the kid on his bench. A sliver of electric blue was visible inside the slightly open backpack on his lap. Dean's lips quirked in a smile.

He swiped his keycard through the reader, letting himself into the prep room between the zoo and the exhibit itself. There he shucked his light jacket, pulling on the zoo-issue khaki one instead. He settled his utility pack around his waist and headed for the fridge where they kept the food for the animals.

Once he was suited up, Dean swiped his card and entered into the exhibit. As always, he paused just inside the door to get his bearings and give any of the animals that might be nearby a chance to react to him the right way. Neither Hunter nor Lily were immediately visible, however, so he busied himself with the usual daily tasks.

Glancing up through the glass to the crowd outside, he noticed that the bench was empty: the kid was gone. It bothered him, that vacant bench, although he couldn’t say why.

Distracted as he was, it took him longer than it should have to realize that Lily was padding toward him. He cursed under his breath; his job was too dangerous to be distracted like that. Shaking the cobwebs from his head, he waited until the great cat had come to a halt about six feet from him and sat down patiently, big head cocked delicately to the side.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Dean said softly. He removed her treat from his pack, tossing it roughly halfway in the space between them. Lily got up and made her way over, killer teeth snapping up the meat. She paused to lick her lips clean before approaching him, nuzzling at his hand. “Well, aren’t you affectionate today?” Dean said, scratching behind her ear. She rumbled a deep chuff, like an oversized housecat, and Dean laughed.

Something outside the glass caught the tiger’s attention and she moved away, stepping toward the barrier. Dean followed her movement, looking up to find the source of her interest: the skinny kid, who was standing right at the glass. He was looking down at the tiger, ignoring her keeper. Dean, puzzled by Lily’s interest, stayed frozen where he was.

Lily cocked her head at the kid, the same way she did when waiting for her treat. Then she made a soft groaning sound. Dean’s brows shot up; that sound was used mainly to communicate to cubs. Was she trying to talk to the kid?

Suddenly, the tiger turned and paced away into the brush. Dean watched her go, then turned back to the glass, where the kid was already staring at him. Seconds ticked by as they locked eyes, separated by the thick glass wall. Dean felt rather like he was underwater, looking up at someone staring down into the sea.

A soft sound caught his ear and he turned back to see Lily returning: with a cub clamped carefully in her jaws. Awestruck, Dean could only watch as the tiger lowered the cub to the ground a few feet away, then headed back into the foliage. After a few minutes, another cub joined the first, and Lily went back again.

Dean took advantage of her absence, dropping to his knees to better view the cubs. He knew they had been born just over four weeks ago: their blue-grey eyes were open and they were still a bit unsteady on their feet. He couldn’t sex them from so far away, but they looked healthy.

Lily returned with a third cub, depositing it with the others. She then settled down a few feet away, busying herself with a bath.

Taking a deep breath, Dean crept closer to the cubs, holding out a hand for them to sniff. They gamboled over, getting his scent. Dean kept a watchful eye on their mother, in case she became upset with his movements, but she paid little attention, intent on her ablutions. Dean got the vague impression she was using him as a babysitter.

Careful of already sharp little claws, Dean scooped up each cub in turn, quickly appraising them with more detail. Two females and a male, all in perfect condition. He would have liked to weigh them, but he didn’t want to push Lily too far. After his inspection, he backed away.

The appearance of the babies had drawn a serious crowd. One kid, who looked to be about twelve, knocked loudly on the glass, further down the exhibit; Lily’s head lifted at the sound. Before Dean could make his way over and motion for him to stop, the skinny kid was there, telling the child off with a stony expression. The knocker pouted and turned away, and when the skinny kid looked up, he caught Dean’s eye.

“Thanks,” Dean said aloud, knowing full well that the kid couldn’t hear him. Still, he’d made himself understood: the kid flashed him a thumbs up.

Movement deep in the brush caught his peripherals. Hunter came into view, watching Dean coolly with his great green eyes, that same “I could kill you where you stand” look he always wore. Dean backed further away from the cubs: males normally had little to do with their offspring, but there was no point in taking chances. He watched Hunter scent the air as Dean moved, and while the tiger tracked his movements carefully, he didn’t seem bothered. Dean reached for his pack, tossing Hunter’s treat from where he stood. He waited until the animal was busy with the meat before slipping away toward the prep room.

Anna stood inside, nose pressed against the window, delight on her face. As Dean swiped his card, she backed away to let him in. “She brought the babies!”

“I noticed,” Dean said teasingly. She swatted his arm. “I was gonna come help you muck out, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” She frowned then. “What caught her eye, when she went over to the glass? Just before she brought them over?”

“That skinny kid from the bench,” Dean answered, rubbing his head. “It was weird, I’ve never seen her take notice of a guest like that before.”

“Me neither,” said Anna, tilting her head in thought. She looked like Lily, Dean noticed, grinning. “You should go thank him.”

He nodded. “Yeah. He also told off some putz who was knocking on the glass.” He looked past Anna to the door that led back into the zoo proper. “Who is he? Why is he always hanging out here?”

Anna shrugged. “Who knows? Seems like he’s good luck around here though.” She smirked up at Dean. “Maybe he’s an angel.”

“Oh, sure,” Dean scoffed.

Anna shrugged again. “Well, I think he likes you. You could get answers to all your questions pretty easily, I imagine.”

Dean treaded water at the door, unsure. He didn’t believe in good luck, but something had drawn Lily to the kid, and animal instincts were normally much better than human.

Small hands shoved ineffectively at him. “Go, you loser. I’ll wait to muck out until Lily brings the cubs back home.”

Dean swiped his card resolutely through the reader and headed out into the zoo.

* * *

The kid was back on his bench, reading a book. He looked up when Dean’s shadow fell over him, but said nothing.

“Hey,” Dean said, trying his best not to be too awkward. “Uh - thanks for earlier, with that kid.”

The guy paused for a few seconds before replying. “No problem,” he said, voice much deeper than Dean had been expecting. It rattled him slightly, but he was saved from stammering as the kid went on. “Woulda knocked his block off, but his parents were there.”

At this unexpected statement, Dean failed to suppress a snort of amusement. “Yeah, well, can’t win ‘em all.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

The kid unfolded himself from the bench and Dean was struck by how tall he was: this close, it became clear that he had a clear three inches on him. A big, long-fingered hand closed around his own, the grip curiously gentle for the size of its owner. “Sam,” the kid offered.

“I noticed you’ve been hanging out here a lot recently, Sam,” Dean said, hoping he didn’t sound accusatory. It was a free zoo: not counting the entrance fee, of course.

Sam just nodded. “I like tigers,” he said simply. Dean's lips lifted in a lopsided smile. “Yeah, me too,” he replied, then motioned down to his uniform. “Obviously.”

The answering grin transformed Sam's thin face. As close as they were, Dean noticed his eyes, honey-gold and brown. Tiger's eyes. Something warm tingled through Dean's body.

The silence went on, but somehow it didn't feel awkward. Then Sam's eyes cut away, looking past Dean, and he turned to follow the gaze.

In the exhibit, Lily was bringing the cubs back to the den, one by one. When she disappeared into the greenery with the last one, Dean saw Anna enter through the prep room door and start to muck out the exhibit.

“She brought them to you,” he said suddenly, before he could even think. Sam's gaze switched back to him, puzzled. “What?”

“Lily,” Dean clarified. “She brought the cubs when you came over.” He looked at Sam thoughtfully. “I've never seen her interact with a guest like that before,” he continued, echoing the conversation with Anna.

A light flush coloured Sam's hollow cheeks and highlighted how pale the rest of his face was. “Well, aside from you guys, I guess she doesn't see people regularly,” he said reasonably. “Just a constant stream of strangers. I've -” he hesitated for a second, then went on - “I've been around a lot recently.”

“Maybe,” Dean mused. “Well, whatever the reason, thanks.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the glass, where Anna was doing a poor job at not openly watching them. “She thinks you're good luck.”

Sam snorted at that. “Definitely not,” he said darkly. His expression changed, brows drawing down into a frown, and Dean wondered what he'd said wrong.

Time to go. He tilted his head up hopefully, feeling somehow rewarded when Sam's face lightened a bit. “See you around?”

“Oh, probably,” Sam said noncommittally. “Bye, Dean.”

Dean turned. “Bye, Sam.”

* * *

The next couple of weeks fell into a routine. When Dean would leave the exhibit after the morning tasks, Sam would be installed on his bench. He would wave cheerfully, and Dean would wave back. As Dean moved about the zoo during his day, he would see Sam: mostly on his bench, but sometimes at the glass of the tiger exhibit, watching the cubs goof around in the grass. Sometimes Lily would be there, sitting right by the barrier, looking up at Sam.

One day, Dean took his lunch break and returned to the bench with a tray of tacos. Sam looked up as he approached.

“Lunch?” Dean suggested, holding up the tray. Sam grinned, moving over so Dean could sit down. “Hope you like tacos.” He frowned suddenly. “I never see you eat anything.”

Sam shrugged. “Not much appetite, usually,” he said, without further explanation. “Those tacos look pretty bomb though.” He reached for one, biting into it.

“They’re okay,” Dean said through his own mouthful. “Free for employees, though, so that makes ‘em taste better.”

Sam swallowed. “You get free food? Dang, that’s lucky.” He grinned slyly. “That’s why I always see you with those big pretzels.’

Dean shook his head ruefully. “Those things are my downfall, man. Can’t resist them.” He patted his stomach. “They’re bad for you though.”

Honey-gold and brown eyes swept over him, up and down. “You don’t look like you’re suffering any ill effects.” Dean flushed under the scrutiny, then flushed further under the realization. Sam was _flirting_ with him.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that new information, so he pushed it aside. “So, Sam, what do you do that allows you to hang out at the zoo all day?”

Out loud, the question sounded rude and invasive and he cringed inwardly. Sam just shrugged. “Nothing. Leaves a lot of time for hanging out at the zoo.”

“No work? School?” Dean felt even worse, prodding at the guy for answers, but he had to know.

“Finished my undergrad last year, so no school,” Sam said. “And it’s not an official position, doesn’t pay well, but I like to think of myself as an amateur tiger spectator and zookeeper annoyer.”

Dean laughed at that, happy that Sam wasn’t bothered by his needling questions. “You don’t annoy me.”

“Prove it,” Sam said suddenly, face shifting with an expression Dean couldn’t decipher. He dug in his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Give me your number.”

“So you can annoy me off-duty?” Dean teased, and Sam grinned in that way that transformed his whole face, making his eyes glow. “Something like that,” he agreed. Dean reached for the phone, adding himself to Sam’s contacts list. “There ya go,” he said, handing the device back. “Keep practicing, maybe you can get a promotion to professional zookeeper annoyer.”

Sam put a hand over his heart. “Thought you said I didn’t annoy you?”

“Try harder.” Dean climbed to his feet, empty taco tray in his hands. “See you, Sam.”

He could feel those tiger eyes on him as he walked back to the exhibit.

* * *

They continued their dance, neither ready to make any further moves. Dean often ate his lunch seated next to Sam on the bench. Sam would only agree to share if Dean had tacos.

One day, he wasn’t there.

The whole day went by without him, and by the end of his shift, Dean was surprised at how much he’d missed the other man. Even on busy days when they couldn’t talk, it was comforting to look up through the glass of the tiger exhibit and see Sam on his bench, give him a wave or a smile and get one in return.

Sam wasn’t there the next day either.

Or the day after.

Dean opened his message app, pulling up Sam’s number. Their last conversation had been three days ago. Dean chewed his lip, then typed quickly.

_Hey, everything good?_

He paused, fingers hovering over the phone.

_Haven't seen you in a while. Where you at?_

The phone buzzed in his hand, Sam's quick reply appearing on the screen.

_451 River St._

_...will you come?_

Something curled unpleasantly in Dean’s gut. He knew that address, but he couldn't place it. And something about Sam's question made him nervous.

Anna appeared at his elbow, shaking dark red hair from her face. “What's up?” she asked, brow furrowed. “You look weird.”

He held up the phone so she could read the message. “Why do I know that address?”

Anna bit her lip. “That's St. Michael's,” she said softly. “The hospital.”

Sam's too-thin face swam before Dean's eyes.

“Oh God,” he said. Anna pushed the phone down. “Go,” she said simply. “Go now.”

Dean paused long enough to give her a grateful look, before charging for the exit gates.

The hospital wasn't far, but the drive seemed endless. Worry twisted his stomach, crawling up his throat. He'd known something was wrong: Sam's constant presence, never seeming to need to be at work or school or anywhere more pressing than the zoo. His gaunt frame. His lack of appetite.

“Oh God,” Dean said again, alone in his car. He knew it was foolish to feel the way he did, knew he didn't really know anything about Sam besides the fact that he liked tigers and tacos, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach urged him on, pushed his foot harder on the accelerator.

When he reached the front doors of the hospital main entrance, he hesitated. Pulling out his phone, he opened Sam's text once more.

_...will you come?_

Then he was through the doors.

“Where’s Sam?” he asked the nurse at the main desk. She blinked up at him. “Sam who?”

Dean realized that he didn’t even know Sam’s last name. “Uh - Sam: tall guy, really skinny.”

The nurse frowned. “Sir, I can’t just - ”

“Sam Wesson?” a new voice interrupted. Dean spun around to see another nurse. “You’re looking for Sam Wesson?”

He wasn’t sure, but there wasn’t time to waste. “Yes!”

“What’s your name?” the second nurse asked, looking down at a chart in her hand.

“Dean,” he answered, wondering why she was asking. She nodded at the chart. “Okay, follow me.” She started off down the hall and Dean hurried after her.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked, lengthening his steps to keep up with her; she was tiny, but moved fast as hell.

“Complications,” she said. “Not surprising, in his case. Chemo takes a lot out of a person, leaves them weak as kittens.”

 _Chemo_. The word sat heavily in Dean’s ears.

The nurse stopped in front of a door. “Here he is.”

Dean reached for the handle, then hesitated. She smiled encouragingly at him. “Go on, he’s stable for now. Buzz me if anything comes up.” She scurried off back along the hall.

Dean stared at the door. _Chemo_. That explained a lot. He’d had no idea, the whole time, that Sam could be so ill. And now -

He had the door open and was barrelling in before he knew what was happening. Sam’s head turned on the pillow as Dean rushed the room, crossing to the bed in two quick strides. He took in Sam’s face, paler than normal, and the dark smudges under his eyes, before he reached out unthinkingly, plunging his hand into that long hair and tilting Sam’s face towards him.

Then he came back to himself and froze, eyes locked with Sam’s, lips scant inches away. What if -

“You better do it,” Sam said then, quietly. “Not sure how much time there’ll be later.”

“Don’t - ” Dean started angrily, before jerking forward and capturing Sam’s mouth with his own.

The kiss was electric, sparks zinging through Dean’s body. He brought his other hand up to cradle Sam’s face, slotting their mouths together better, and when he ran his tongue against the seam of Sam’s lips, the other man’s mouth opened under his.

Dean felt like he could stay there forever, but Sam started to cough and yanked away, turning his face to the side. Dean stroked his hair gently until the spasm passed. Sam turned back, face sour. “Sorry. Not very sexy.”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean breathed, and he heard the crack in his voice. “How could you - you never said - Jesus, _chemo?_ ”

Sam made a face. “They told you.”

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me?” Dean demanded, anger overlaid with fear, worry, distress. “All this time, Sam. I could have…” He faded then, and Sam’s lips turned down.

“I wouldn’t have told you. You don’t need that burden.” He laughed: a sharp, brittle sound. “You don’t even know me. I couldn’t put that on you.”

“I…” Dean couldn’t find words. Sam was right: they didn’t know each other, not really. Not past the zoo gates, out of view of the tiger exhibit, beyond the stone bench. He counted rapidly through the calendar in his mind and realized it had only been eight weeks since he’d first seen Sam on that bench. But at the same time, they’d made such a connection that he could be hurt that Sam hadn’t told him he had freakin’ cancer. It barely made sense.

Dean felt himself wilting, brain firing too quickly to keep up. All he could do was keep Sam’s face in his hands, like he was holding onto the world, and blink past the tears in his eyes.

Sam softened then, with Dean’s turmoil written so plainly on his features. “Okay, okay,” he soothed, catching Dean’s wrists and pulling free of his grip. “Come here.” He tugged until Dean caught on, climbing into the bed, Sam shifting to make room for him, tucking him into his own body. Dean felt Sam’s bones, too close to his skin, as he let himself be cuddled like he was the one who needed comfort, like he was the one who was -

He cut off the thought violently, turning into Sam’s frame, hiding his face against Sam’s neck. When Sam spoke, his voice rolled through Dean like soft thunder. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” His hand stroked Dean’s arm gently.

“Anna is covering. She told me to come.”

Sam chuckled quietly. “She would.”

“She likes you. So do the tigers. Lily keeps coming to the glass looking for you.”

He could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. “What about you?” Sam asked lightly. “You like me too?”

Dean snorted. “Just kissed you, didn’t I?”

“You don’t have to like someone to kiss them. Just ask Sarah Henderson, my third grade crush.”

“Sounds like you liked her so you kissed her.”

“She didn’t kiss back.”

Dean laughed helplessly. “You kissed back.”

Sam’s arms tightened around him. “Maybe I like you.”

“Just maybe?” There was more concern in the question than Dean was comfortable with, but it was too late. Sam paused; Dean felt him stop breathing for a second. “Dean, I can’t let you - ”

He pushed up so he could look Sam in the face, taking in the hesitation in those tiger eyes. “Do you like me?”

Sam closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said quietly. Dean leaned in to kiss him again, and when they broke apart, Sam’s eyes fluttered open. “That’s all I care about,” Dean said, “so shut up and let me keep kissing you.” He leaned in again, moving closer until both their eyes crossed. “You can even kiss back.”

Sam did.

* * *

They wouldn’t let Sam out of the hospital. Observation, they called it. Sam called it imprisonment. His nurses didn’t like that.

Dean spent as much time at the hospital as he could. Anna encouraged it: the tigers didn’t really need two keepers there full time. She kept telling him to take a leave of absence, but Sam stamped that idea out.

“How will you keep me up to date on the cubs?” he demanded. “I need to know how they are.” His face was so serious that Dean couldn’t argue, so he went to his shifts and came back to the hospital, often enough that the nurses stopped asking who he was there to see.

Two weeks later, Dean was coming out of the prep room back into the zoo when the zoo director, Mr. Crowley, stopped him. “Smith.” Mr. Crowley was English and addressed everyone by their last names. “About time we named those cubs.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed. Normally, the zoo would run a poll, or sometimes a contest, and allow the public to name the babies. Mr. Crowley went on. “Milton has suggested that we give the naming to a patient at the hospital. She has someone in mind, apparently: some poor lad with terminal cancer.”

The words struck Dean hard, punching through the wave of gratitude to Anna for wrangling such a gift for Sam. He took a few seconds to get his voice under control. “I know the person she means,” he gritted out.

“Splendid,” Mr. Crowley went on. “Be a good bit of publicity for us. I’ll get the ball rolling, shall I?” He nodded to Dean without waiting for a reply and hurried away.

Dean punched the brick wall and nursed badly bruised knuckles for five days. Sam arched an eyebrow when he saw them, but didn’t press him for details.

 

* * *

 

On the day of the naming ceremony, it rained.

Sam shivered next to Dean, lost under the voluminous blue poncho. Dean wanted nothing more than to shield him from the rain with his own body, but the cameras were rolling and he could do nothing more than stand there and fake a smile.

Sam had refused to tell Dean the names he had picked. As flashbulbs went off in his face, Sam announced the names. They wouldn’t let him touch the cubs, so he stood behind each one in turn.

“This is Bright,” Sam said brightly, naming the first female. He moved over to the second. “And this is Blake.”

His tiger eyes were on Dean when he motioned to the male cub. “And this is Taco.”

The crowd laughed at that. Sam posed for a few more pictures, a smile on his thin face. Then Mr. Crowley was there, wrapping up the ceremony, shaking hands with reporters, throwing a genial arm around Sam’s skinny shoulders. They were asking Sam about the names.

“Bright and Blake are references to William Blake, the poet,” Sam explained. “His famous poem starts out ‘Tiger, tiger, burning bright’, and I liked the alliteration.”

“And Taco?” a reporter asked. “Doesn’t fit the theme.”

Dean couldn’t see Sam, but he could hear the smile in his voice. “Taco is a gift, for someone very special. That’s all I’ll say.”

Slipping off to the prep room, Dean made his escape from the pomp and pageantry; there was still a full work day to get through. Then he could go back to the hospital and spent the night with Sam again, and ask him how he expected Dean to be able to work with a tiger named Taco.

* * *

Hours later, when Dean left the prep room, a voice sounded from the shadows of the quiet zoo. “Hey, tiger.”

“What are you doing here?” Dean demanded as Sam emerged from the darkness. He was pale and trembling slightly; the rain had stopped, but it was cool now that the sun had gone down.

“Waiting for you, obviously,” Sam replied, trying to hide the quiver in his voice. Dean frowned. “Closing time was over an hour ago. What’d you do, hide behind a garbage can?”

“Something like that.” Sam stepped in close and Dean scowled up at him. He slipped out of his jacket, wrapping it around Sam’s skinny shoulders. “You’re shivering. You shouldn’t be out here, you idiot.”

Cold fingers closed on his chin, tilting his head up. “I didn’t come here to put clothes on,” Sam breathed against his lips. “I came to take them off.”

Dean’s eyes flew wide. “You _what_ now?”

Sam’s voice was husky in his ear. “I want you to make love to me, Dean, please.”

“Sam,” Dean groaned, heart kicking up at the words. “I can’t - ”

“You can’t say no to me,” Sam insisted. “I’m dying.” Dean stiffened. “That’s not funny,” he said sharply. Looking contrite didn’t stop Sam’s pleading. “Please, Dean. I need you to.” He pressed closer and Dean felt him, hard and hot against his hip.

“Jesus, Sam, let me take you home. To my place, not the hospital. Let me - ”

Sam shook his head, pulling away. He leaned against the glass of the tiger exhibit. “No. Here. Please.” He let the jacket fall from his shoulders, let his head fall back against the wall, watching Dean from hooded eyes smudged with shadows.

The voice in his head was screaming at him to bundle Sam up, take him somewhere warm and soft and kiss him into oblivion, but Dean couldn’t do it. All jokes aside, Sam was right: he was dying, and Dean couldn’t say no.

“Okay, Sammy. Okay.” He closed the gap between them, pressing Sam against the cool glass, feeling the heat of him under his hands. Sam scrunched down until they were the same height, and pressed his lips to Dean’s: gentle at first, then with growing intensity.

They kissed for what felt like eternity, hands roaming over the expanse of each other’s bodies. Tearing away from Sam’s mouth, Dean dropped to his knees, lifting the hem of Sam’s shirt to nuzzle at his concave stomach, drop a searing kiss on a too-sharp hipbone. Sam’s fingers gripped his hair, pulling just enough to send shivers racing down his spine. He moved to rub his cheek against the bulge in Sam’s jeans. They hung loose enough on his hips that one firm tug brought them down with his boxers, letting his dick spring up toward his belly.

“Dean,” Sam gasped, fingers tightening in Dean’s hair as Dean swallowed him down, working his tongue along Sam’s length until he was shaking so hard he could barely stand. “Dean, holy shit.”

“Mmm,” Dean hummed against the heated flesh on his lips, his tongue, and Sam’s hips jerked forward, quite of their own volition. “Dean, please,” Sam begged. “I can’t hold on much more.”

Pulling off with a pop, Dean rose to his feet, wrapping his arms around Sam to help keep him on his feet. “Sam, are you sure you want to - ”

“Yes, godamnit,” Sam insisted, hands sliding under Dean’s shirt to rake across his nipples. Dean groaned at the touch, grinding their hips together. “Have you ever - ”

“No, but this is my last chance.”

Dean forced down the swell that threatened to close his throat. “Don’t talk like that, Sam, please.” He kissed the trembling lips again, over and over. “If you haven’t...we need something - ”

Sam kicked his left foot, where his jeans were pooled around his ankles. “Pocket,” he said, breath catching on the word as Dean’s teeth grazed across his collarbone. “I swiped it from the hospital.”

Dean tore himself away from Sam’s throat to fumble through the indicated pocket, coming up with a tube of industrial personal lubricant. “Jeez, this shit is practically prescription.”

Sam snickered in his ear. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said coyly, rubbing over the zipper of Dean’s khakis. Dean choked back a laugh as he slicked the lube over his fingers. He caught Sam’s knee, bringing it up to curl around his hip. “Okay like this?” he asked breathlessly, pushing himself against Sam’s groin. Sam nodded, pushing back. “Please,” he said again, and Dean circled his opening gently with one slick finger. Sam gasped and arched against him. “God.”

Teasing just at the hole, Dean dropped his lips back to Sam’s skin, kissing along the line where his neck joined his shoulder. “Hold on, Sammy.” Then he pushed slowly, carefully, breaching the first ring of muscle.

Sam whimpered and he stopped immediately. “Too much?”

“Not enough,” Sam hissed, pushing back against Dean’s hand. Dean swallowed hard and continued, tenderly working Sam’s opening until he could get a second finger in.

Sam’s head drooped down onto his shoulder. “Dean, Jesus.”

Dean pressed in deeper, stroking over the bundle of nerves that made Sam draw taut like a bowstring. “Oh _God_ ,” he said again. “More, Dean, more.”

As Dean scissored his fingers, gently stretching the tight muscle, Sam pressed back against his hand again. “I won’t break,” he whispered into Dean’s ear, “I promise.”

Slipping in a third finger, Dean felt Sam panting into his neck. “C’mon, baby, give it up to me,” he urged, and Sam rocked back onto his fingers. “ _Fuck_ , Dean.”

Just as he was about to quicken his pace, Sam’s hand on his wrist stopped him. “I’m ready. C’mon.” Sam peeled himself away, letting Dean’s hand slide free. He pushed at Dean lightly until he stepped back. Sam pushed off the glass, turning to face the wall. He laid his hands on the cool clear surface and tipped forward from his hips, turning his face to cast a coquettish glance over his shoulder. “Dean, I need you.”

Lost, Dean moved in for the kill. He unzipped his khakis and pulled himself free of his underwear, pushing the waistband down behind his balls. Grabbing the hospital lube once more, he slicked his erection quickly, then wrapped his arm around Sam’s waspish waist, pulling him close. He lined himself up at Sam’s opening, looking back to those tiger eyes. “Ready?”

“Don’t baby me,” Sam said, pressing his forearms into the glass. Past him, in the reflection, Dean watched them as he moved forwards, pushing into Sam until the wet head of his cock popped in smoothly.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam gasped. He let his head fall forward, resting his forehead against the glass. “Don’t you dare ask if I’m okay.”

Dean swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue and said nothing, pushing deeper until he was buried to the hilt in Sam’s tight, hot body, thighs brushing against the back of Sam’s legs. He waited, lost in the tight clutch of muscle around him, until Sam elbowed him sharply. “God, move, please.”

He pulled back, almost all the way, and slid back home again. Sam cried out, breath fogging the glass. “Fuck, Sam,” Dean grunted, repeating the motion.

“Fuck me,” Sam gasped out, slanting a dark-eyed look back toward Dean. He twisted around to stare down at their joined bodies, fingers squeaking on the smooth surface as he flexed them. “Fuck me, Dean, fuck me now.”

There was nothing to do but obey. Dean got a better grip on those knife-edge hipbones, pulling Sam back to meet him as he thrust forward, picking up speed. “Sam,” he chanted, voice cracking with need, “Sam, baby, oh my God.”

As he thrust in again, Sam gasped, “Stop, wait.” Dean froze, deep inside, as Sam reached for his hand and pressed it into his own belly. “Here,” Sam said, fingers closed over Dean’s. “Now push.”

Dean pushed his hips forward - and swore. “Holy fucking hell.” He could feel himself, deep inside Sam, through Sam’s thin frame, through his abdomen. “Jesus.”

“That’s you,” Sam whispered hotly. “That’s you inside me, Dean.”

Dean dropped his head against Sam’s shoulder, trembling with need and a dozen other emotions. Suddenly, he was the one begging. “Sam, please, let me - ”

“Okay,” Sam said softly. “C’mon, give it to me.”

Dean picked up his discarded rhythm. He felt his release building at the base of his spine. He reached for Sam’s cock, but Sam slapped his hand away. “No, just you,” he insisted. “Wanna come on your dick alone.”

“God,” Dean muttered, increasing his speed. As Sam put his hands back on the glass, Dean noticed movement from within the exhibit, in the undergrowth.

Lily. The tiger emerged from the brush, padding straight toward the window where they stood. Sam slid his hand down the glass toward her. “Hey, baby,” he crooned to the tiger, and she butted her head gently against the barrier, like she was trying to reach out to him.

Dean’s eyes prickled with tears at the sight of the beautiful creatures before him: Sam and the tiger both. “I love you, Sam,” he blurted, pulling Sam even closer and wrapping both arms around his waist, thrusting in short, shallow movements. “God, I love you.”

Sam let out a sob; the first sound of distress Dean had ever heard him make. He grabbed Dean’s arms where they encircled him, held him close, fingers digging in. “Dean.”

“Love you,” Dean whispered again, teetering on the precipice of his orgasm. Behind the glass, Lily sat down, watching them with her head tilted in her signature way.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam gasped out, body stiffening in Dean’s grip. His hips stuttered, falling out of rhythm with Dean’s, and he came in long streams, painting the glass with white streaks. Dean thrust once more before falling over his own edge, pulling Sam as close as possible as he spilled into his body.

They shook through the tremours together, clinging to each other tightly. As Dean came to his senses, he felt Sam slumping in his arms. “Whoa, hold on.”

Slipping free of Sam’s body and trying to ignore the rush of wetness, Dean held Sam up with one arm as he struggled to drag the other man’s jeans back up. He managed eventually, tucking Sam back into his pants and turning him in his arms. Sam tried to reach up to hold onto Dean’s shoulders, but his arms fell back down as though too heavy. “Dean - ”

“I got you,” Dean assured him, letting Sam slide down the glass until he was sitting on the ground, breathing hard. Taking a second to zip himself up, Dean knelt next to his lover on the cold flagstones.

Sam’s eyes were closed and Dean’s heart clenched for a second. “Sam?”

“I’m good,” Sam insisted, eyes still shut. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Cold.”

“I gotta get you back to the hospital,” Dean declared, worry sinking into his bones. “Can you hold on to me?”

Sam opened one eye. “Hold on to your what?”

“Very funny.” Dean gathered Sam into his arms and lifted him up, bridal style. For a guy nearly six and a half feet tall, he barely weighed anything. Dean blinked back another rush of tears. “Hold on, okay?”

“Oh, this is so romantic,” Sam murmured, arms around Dean’s neck. “You cheeseball.”

Dean pressed his lips together as he carried Sam out of the zoo.

* * *

It was a quick trip to his car, parked in the employee lot. When they reached it, Dean shook Sam gently. “Can you get in?” He lowered Sam to his feet, arms still tight around him. Sam opened his eyes. “Is this your car? What a beauty. ‘67 Impala? Let me look at her.”

“You can look at it from inside,” Dean pleaded, opening the passenger door and easing Sam into the seat.

“Can not,” Sam argued, but he slid down along the vinyl until he could rest his head against the top of the seat. His eyes closed again, but not his mouth. “Before you ask, I’m okay.”

He wasn’t, but Dean wasn’t fit to argue now, with fear clawing at his belly. He carefully closed the door and rushed around to the driver’s side.

The hospital wasn’t far, but Dean was tight with worry the whole time. Sam’s eyes remained closed, but there was a faint smile on his lips. When they swung up in front of the main entrance, he reached out blindly for Dean, who let his hand be captured. Sam raised it to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “Thank you,” he said seriously, opening his tiger eyes. Dean couldn’t speak. He just tugged his hand away gently and climbed out of the car, dashing through the automatic doors to grab one of the wheelchairs that were always just inside.

He bundled Sam carefully into the chair and wheeled him inside, sending a silent apology to his car, abandoned as she was. Navigating Sam through the halls, Dean could have wept with relief as they entered Sam’s usual wing.

Jessica, the pretty blonde night nurse, bounced to her feet as they approached. “There you are, Jesus Christ.” Her voice was tight with worry, sounding the same way Dean felt. “They said you disappeared after the naming ceremony - what happened?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, winking audaciously at Dean. Jessica frowned at Sam. “You’re an idiot,” she said, motioning for Dean to follow. They headed down the hall to Sam’s room, where Dean lifted him easily into the bed. Jessica bustled around, attaching IVs and monitors and wires to Sam, who lay there with a long-suffering look.

“There,” she said when she was finished, apparently satisfied. The ECG beeped quietly in the background. Jessica shot Dean a look. “I’d tell you to go home and let him rest, but…” She let the sentence go unfinished.

“Not a chance,” Sam finished for her, looking placid under all the equipment. Jessica rolled her eyes and left them to it.

Dean was about to tell Sam off for being rude to the nurse, but Sam lifted his arms wearily. “Come sleep with me.”

No force on earth could stop Dean from honouring that request. Carefully, so as not to disturb the machinery, Dean climbed into the bed, letting Sam curl up into him, cheek resting on his chest. He kissed the dark head gently.

Sam shifted, and suddenly the ECG flatlined. Dean jumped, and Sam laughed. “Fraidy cat. Turn that stupid thing off, will you? I can’t sleep with the beeping.” Dean’s hand shook as he stretched across to turn off the monitor, the flatline sound cutting off and leaving them in blessed silence. Dean wrapped himself around Sam, cradling him close, and they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Dean woke up, sunlight was streaming in through the windows. He squinted against the light, blinking to try and adjust his eyes. Sam was still resting on his chest, hand curled up just over Dean’s heart. Smiling, Dean put his hand gently over Sam’s.

It was cold.

Fear lanced through him and he straightened in the bed. Sam slumped against him, unmoving. He put his hand on Sam’s cheek. That, too, was cold. “Sam?” Dean struggled to keep his voice from rising as terror flooded his lungs. “Sammy?”

No response.

He twisted, stretching out his arm to slap the ECG monitor on. The flatline kicked in immediately, and Dean ignored the spike in his own heartrate as he fumbled for the sensor, attaching it to Sam’s finger.

The flatline went on, and Dean’s scream, rising above it, had the nurses outside scrambling for the door.

“SAAAAM!”

* * *

He didn’t go to the funeral.

He didn’t know anyone there. He’d never met any of Sam’s family or friends. He didn’t even know who had arranged it, who had ID’d the body. They wouldn’t let him do it: he wasn’t on the list. He didn’t blame Sam for that. Everything had happened so fast.

He took two personal days off work, but came in on the third day, unable to stomach the thought of sitting alone in his apartment any longer. When Anna saw him, her face fell.

“Sweetie, what are you doing here?” she asked gently, touching his pale, drawn face. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I can’t be at home,” he said dully. “Nothing to do. I need something to distract me.”

“Yeah, but this place…” She glanced back at the empty stone bench. Dean closed his eyes, turned his head away. “I have to stay busy, Anna. I’ll go crazy.”

She closed her hands over his. “Take it easy,” she insisted. “And stay out of the exhibit. You’re not yourself, you could get hurt.”

He nodded listlessly. Dangerous animals and grief didn’t mix. Plus, he felt that if he saw Lily just then, he would break down.

He spent the day in the prep room, catching up on paperwork and other mundane tasks. When he signed off on the medical reports detailing the cubs’ two month work-up, his hand faltered: the names on the papers were too fresh. Tears stung his eyes.

When he left for the day, passing by the glass of the exhibit, he saw Lily sitting by the window, her head cocked to the side. His heart clenched in his chest and he bolted, making it all the way to the employee lot before he retched into the grass behind his car.

In the morning, Anna wasn’t there. Dean swiped himself into the prep room and hovered at the door to the exhibit. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to go inside, but the tigers weren’t to blame for what happened, and this was his job. He took a deep breath, swiping himself through the door into the cool, quiet exhibit.

He stopped dead as the door closed behind him. The cubs were about ten feet away, playing in the grass, pouncing and wrestling with each other. They’d been given different coloured ear tags, to tell them apart: blue for Bright, green for Blake, red for Taco. Despite himself, Dean couldn’t help but at the furry little creatures. He slid down against the door, watching them frolic. Movement behind them caught his eye: Lily, slinking out of the brush. She observed him for a minute, big gold eyes intent on him, before she padded over to the window and sat down.

Dean climbed slowly to his feet and approached her. Looking at the window, he could see the faint streaks on the glass where Sam’s come had dripped down. Lily looked up at him, tilting her head. Dean choked at the sudden, sharp rise of tears. “He’s not coming, baby.”

He collapsed on the grass; too close to her by far, but too wrecked to care. Through the glass, he watched the empty bench. “He’s not coming.”

The tiger’s footfalls were noiseless, but he knew she was there, close enough that he could feel her breath hot against his face. He looked up, meeting her honey-gold eyes, and she stretched out to nuzzle against his cheek. She groaned softly, the comforting noise she would make to reassure the cubs.

Dean put his hand on the glass and let his tears fall, the tiger silent beside him.

 


End file.
